By the time I arrived at the studio, the line to get through security had diminished to something slightly less than a Monday morning at Starbucks. I waited impatiently, tapping my foot as I inched forward, all the while keeping my head down and trying to look small and inconspicuous.
Finally I made it to the front, watching Queen Latifah take inordinate pleasure in wanding an overweight PA.
Bug-eyed Billy looked up from his clipboard.
“Name?” he asked, eyeing me carefully.
I nervously cleared my throat and held my breath as I handed over my stolen press pass.
He glanced at it. Then up at me. Then back at the pass.
“Felix Dunn?” he asked, narrowing his eyes behind his Coke-bottle glasses. “You’re Felix?”
I nodded. “Uh-huh. That’s me!” My voice suddenly sounded helium laced. I cleared my throat again.
“Felix sounds like a man’s name, ” Billy said, glancing back at the pass.
“It’s, uh…French. It’s pronounced ‘Fe-lay.’ ”
He narrowed his eyes again. “Fe-lay?”
I nodded, mentally crossing my fingers. “Yep.”
“Like a Fe-lay-o’-fish?”
“Uh…yeah.” I nervously glanced from side to side, sure that at any moment someone would stand up and yell, “Fake!”
“And you’re with the L.A. Informer?”
“Yes?” Which might have been more convincing if I hadn’t phrased it as a question. I bit my lip, tasting Raspberry Perfection lip gloss as I nervously shifted from one pink-pump-clad foot to the other.
Billy grunted. “Hmph.” He flipped through his list, his myopic squint searching for a “Fe-lay.” I held my breath, resisting the urge to peek over his shoulder.
Finally he checked off an entry and handed the press pass back to me. “Okay, you’re cleared. Go on through.”
I did an internal sigh of relief so loud it echoed inside my brain. I took off my earrings and belt and pulled my stolen keys out of my pocket, depositing them all in a plastic tub to ride through the X-ray machine. I did a silent prayer to the gods of false disguises and stepped through the plastic archway.
Beep.
Oh, hell! I froze. What, what, what? I chewed my lip again, sure that panic was written all over my face.
Latifah glanced down. I think I heard her stifle a snicker. “Those your shoes?”
I looked down at my pink heels. “Yes, why?”
No disguising the snicker this time. “Nothin’.”
“Yeah, I know they clash with the red jacket.”
“Uh-huh. Well, maybe you wanna put them on the belt, there, honey. You know…take ’em off. Take ’em all off.” She snorted again and glanced at Billy. He was grinning, too.
“Uh…o-kay.” I slipped my shoes off and threw them into a plastic tub to ride through the machine.
I stepped back through again.
Silence. Blessed silence!
I gave Latifah a little wave, keeping my head low, and grabbed my belongings, just barely resisting the urge to sprint through the lot.
Step one accomplished.
On to phase two.
Ten minutes later I was slinking around the corner of stage 6G, carefully watching for any sign of a) Stein-man (lest he draft me for wardrobe duty), b) Ramirez (lest he notice me on wardrobe duty and slap a pair of handcuffs on me), or c) Dana (whom I desperately needed to get to before either a or b happened).
I entered the warehouse, keeping close to the walls and hoping I blended into the background as I slunk toward the soundstage. I picked my way over wires and ropes duct taped to the ground, thinking inconspicuous thoughts as I passed the Craft services area. Luckily, no one tried to stop me, though I did notice a couple of PAs looking at my shoes as I scuttled past. I think one even snickered, “Hot stuff, ” as I walked by. Okay, now I was starting to get a little self-conscious. Yes, they clash. I get it!
I was almost to the soundstage when a familiar voice hailed me from the wings.
“Hey, Maddie.”
I had a mini heart attack, spinning around so fast I feared whiplash. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw who it was.
“Hi, Ricky.”
“What are you doing here? That big cop said you weren’t allowed on the set anymore.”
I cringed. Oh yeah, handcuffs were definitely in my future.
“I’m just here to see Dana. Know where she is?”
“Sure. She’s blocking out the next scene. Ashley and Chad are having makeup sex today. Apparently he doesn’t care who the baby’s daddy is after all.”
The wonders of television.
“Thanks, ” I said, turning to go.
“Hey, did that woman ever find you?” Ricky called.
I paused. “What woman?”
“There was this woman looking for you earlier. She didn’t leave her name but she had, like, really long black hair. And she seemed a little high-strung.”
Oh. Crap.
Isabel.
“She was here?” I squeaked out, sounding way too much like Minnie Mouse for my liking. I had no idea how she got onto the lot, but knowing she was anywhere in the vicinity of my person made my skin instantly break out in goose bumps.
Ricky nodded. “Yeah. Hey, you okay? You look kinda pale.”
I gulped down a dry lump in my throat. “Yeah, sure, fine. When was she here? What did she say?”
Ricky scrunched up his face as if he were thinking really hard. “Um, it was earlier this morning, right after I got in. I told her I wasn’t sure you’d be here, but she just said she’d hang around and ‘catch up to you.’ ”
Oh boy.
I mentally added one more name to the list of people whom I so did not want to run into today. In fact, I moved her name right up to the tippy-top of the list. I debated calling Ramirez and telling him that Isabel was lurking somewhere on studio property. But that would mean telling him I was lurking on studio property, and me in the back of his squad car wasn’t going to help Dana any.
So, instead I mumbled, “Thanks, ” to Ricky and made a beeline for the soundstage.
I spotted Dana right away. She was lying in Ashley Culver’s bed, dressed in a peach-colored tube top and tight briefs that almost exactly matched her skin tone. Unless you squinted, it looked like she was in the buff. Which, it seemed, was the idea, as Steinman directed her though a series of seductive poses, all the while shouting about the white balance and backlighting.
Long extensions had been added to her hair, so that Ashley’s curly blonde locks now fell over Dana’s shoulders. Her makeup was done to perfectly match Mia’s skin tone, and I think she was even wearing green contacts. The dread I’d been feeling all morning kicked up a notch. Even I might have mistaken Dana for Mia.
Then again, it was perfect for what I was planning.
I waited behind an unused camera crane while Steinman blocked out the rest of the scene, Dana beaming and making kissy-faces at the camera the entire time. Never mind that the cameras weren’t on; Dana was milking her fifteen minutes for all it was worth.
Finally Steinman signaled one of the PAs in a headset to go get Mia for the real deal.
Dana slipped on a pair of flip-flops and a robe before stepping off the soundstage. I grabbed her arm almost immediately, dragging her into the shadows.
“What the-” she started.
I did an instant shushing motion, holding an index finger up to my lips.
“Maddie!” she whispered. “What are you doing here?” She scrunched up her nose. “And what’s with the hair?” she asked, fingering my newly brown tresses.
“It’s a disguise.”
“Totally good idea, ” she said, nodding sagely. “ ’Cause if Ramirez catches you here, you’re toast.”
“You’ve seen him?” There was Minnie Mouse again.
Dana nodded. “Yeah, and I’m pretty sure he used the words arrest and blonde in the same sentence. He gave me the total third degree about where you were. I told him that you were at your mom’s, and I think he’s on his way over there now.”
I cringed as an image of Ramirez interrogating Mom popped into my head. Though I wasn’t sure which one I felt sorrier for.
On the upside, having Ramirez out of the way for a couple of hours made things that much easier.
“Listen, I’ve got a plan, ” I said, dragging Dana behind the crane as a pair of grips walked by. I quickly filled her in on the idea that had been cooking in the back of my head all morning. And, yes, I’ll admit it was just a wee bit on the “harebrained” side, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t work.
All I needed to implement it was one more person.
Mia.
I realized that Mia was the key to all of this and the only person on the set whom I hadn’t talked to yet. And unfortunately, I needed her help if we were going to pull this off. I know Mia wasn’t exactly known around the set as the helpful type, but I had a feeling that if anyone was eager to get rid of Mr. Poisoned Pen, it was her.
Dana and I watched from the wings while Mia and Ricky wiggled under the sheets of Ashley’s bed, pausing every few minutes for Mia to complain about Ricky’s hands skimming inappropriate places or the camera not zooming in on her good side. Finally Steinman was satisfied (or fed up) and yelled, “Scene, ” breaking for lunch. Poor Ricky looked infinitely relieved.
Dana and I gave Mia a three-count head start to her trailer before slipping out the back.
I was happy to see that Ramirez was still nowhere in sight (thank you, Mom!) as we tippy-toed between the corrugated-metal trailers, passing Ricky’s, Blake’s, and the one marked TALENT before coming to Mia’s. Dana rapped two knuckles on the metal door.
“Yes?” came the sharp reply from inside.
“Wardrobe, ” I called.
“Oh for God’s sake, ” I heard her respond, her voice growing louder as she moved toward the door. “We just finished the last scene.” The door popped open and Mia stood glaring at me. She was wrapped up in a red silk robe that contrasted sharply with her pale skin. Her lips were painted red to match, as if lipstick were the first thing she’d thought of putting on when she returned to her trailer. Her feet were bare, and her enviable blonde curls framed a face that was etched in a deep scowl.
“Who are you?” she demanded. “I have my own wardrobe person, you know?”
“Right. Um, listen, could we come in for just a minute?”
She put both hands on her slim hips, narrowing her eyes at me. “Why?”
I glanced nervously over my shoulder. I wasn’t sure how long Mom could keep Ramirez occupied, but I had a feeling even she had her limits. “I need to talk to you about your stalker.”
Mia blew a short puff of air through her ruby red lips. “What, you trying to sell a story to the tabloids? Think you can get a quote from me or something?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. I…” I paused, not sure how to voice my idea without sounding like a bad Scooby-Doo episode.
But Dana jumped right in. “She has a plan to catch the killer.”
Gee, thanks, Shaggy.
Mia arched one slim, professionally shaped eyebrow at me. “So you’re a wardrobe assistant and a detective?”
“Look, can I please just come in for a minute to talk?”
I could tell she still had her doubts, but luckily her curiosity won out over skepticism. She stepped aside, silently allowing us entry. We navigated the two metal steps and quickly shut the door behind us.
“So?” Mia sank down into one of her velvet-covered sofas, arms draped casually over the back in a practiced pose straight out of a Marlene Dietrich movie. “What do you want from me?”
I gingerly perched on the sofa opposite, glancing out the brocade-covered windows to make sure the coast was still clear. Just a couple of grips smoking cigarettes. So far, no Bad Cop.
So far.
“Maddie has been helping the police investigate the murders, ” Dana started.
“Really?” Mia eyes roved my person, taking in the leather and clashing heels. “You’re working with the police?”
“Uh, well, sort of.” I shot Dana a look. “Loosely.”
“We’ve already questioned tons of suspects and narrowed it down to someone on the set, ” Dana continued.
“I’m not surprised.” Mia snorted. “They’re all jealous of me. Any one of them could want me out of the picture.”
“So you think the killer really is after you?” I asked.
“Of course! Veronika was just a stand-in. Who’d bother with her?”
I paused, wondering if I should mention Veronika’s extracurricular activities on the set. But I figured at this point, what did I have to lose?
“We think Veronika may have had a little side business going on. Blackmail.”
Mia raised both eyebrows and gasped out loud. “Blackmail? Who on earth was she blackmailing?”
I shrugged. “We’re not sure.”
“But we’ll find out, ” Dana piped up beside me. “Maddie’s a totally good detective.”
Mia turned to me. “Oh?”
“Um, well…”
“Don’t be so modest.” Dana chucked me on the shoulder. “She’s helped the police lots of times before. And we always get our man. Right?”
Mia’s lips quirked up; she seemed truly amused at this. “Just like the Mounties, huh?”
I cleared my throat. “Anyway, we have a small favor to ask. We think we might be able to find the identity of your stalker if we catch him in the act, so to speak.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“In the act of trying to harm you, ” Dana supplied.
“You want to use me as bait?” Mia’s voice rose to a level of shrill just slightly below dog whistle.
“No, no, ” I reassured her. “He’ll only think it’s you.”
“I’m the bait, ” Dana said proudly.
Mia gave her a slow up-and-down and made a face. “You seriously think someone would mistake you for me?”
“They mistook Veronika for you, ” I reminded her.
She sucked in her cheeks, thinking this over. “What do you need me to do?”
I felt my stomach lurch-maybe at the relief of getting her cooperation (no small hurdle, as the last week had taught me), or maybe at the thought that we were actually going to go through with this Lucy-and-Ethel scheme.
“All we need you to do is stay away from your trailer tonight.”
Mia frowned. “Why?”
“I’ll pretend I’m you, ” Dana chimed in, “and after we wrap, I’ll go into the trailer, seemingly alone. Only Maddie will be watching from the bushes, ready to call for help as soon as the killer appears. But if he sees two of us, well, he’ll know I’m a fake. So we need you to stay out of sight.”
“Can you do that?” I asked.
Mia nodded slowly. “All right. You really think this will work?” she asked, watching me carefully under her sculpted brows.
I took a deep breath. “I hope so.”
The rest of the day passed in slow motion as I hid out in the talent trailer, drinking coffee, playing solitaire on the tiny laptop computer, and feeling the bundle of nerves in my stomach escalate higher than the price tag on a pair of Blahnik originals. I diligently ignored the piling messages on my voice mail from Felix, all of them promising bodily harm if anything happened to his Neon, and none of them using language I could repeat in polite company. But they paled in comparison to the escalating threats from Ramirez. He’d gone from a peeved, “Where the hell are you?” last night to this afternoon’s growling, “Goddammit, Maddie, call me or I swear to God I’m going to…” Then it trailed off into Spanish curse words. I almost felt bad. I almost gave in and dialed his number. Almost. If he had any inkling I was within ten feet of the set, he’d probably cuff me to a radiator somewhere and throw away the key.
Instead I kept a close eye on the windows, watching for any sign of Bad Cop or his buddies in blue. None. Though my heart leaped into my throat when I saw a swish of black hair disappear into Blake’s trailer. I think I forgot to breathe for two full minutes until Kylie skipped out, wearing the black wig for her scene as Tina Rey’s evil twin sister from Baltimore.
By the time the sky was beginning to turn a dusky blue, I was nursing my fifth cup of coffee and my nerves were strung tighter than Felix’s wallet.
“Hey, ” Dana said, popping her head in the door.
I yelped, spilling coffee on my wrist. “Geez, you scared me.”
“Oops, sorry. Next time I’ll knock.”
I wiped at the coffee with a napkin. “You finished?”
Dana nodded, stifling a yawn. “Yep, we’re done blocking. Ricky and Mia are shooting their last scene, and then we’re a wrap.”
And Operation Bait was a go. I felt those nerves do another flip and sipped at my drink.
Dana stretched and yawned into her hand. “Man, I am beat. Any more of that left?” she asked, gesturing to my cup.
“I’ll make a new pot. Stand-in work more tiring than you thought?” I asked, slipping a filter into the Mr. Coffee in the tiny kitchenette.
Dana nodded. “It’s exhausting. Plus I had kind of a late night last night.”
“At SA?”
“What?”
“Sexaholics Anonymous? That’s where you were last night, right?”
“Oh. Uh, yeah. Right.”
I paused, a scoop of French roast hovering over the basket. “You were at SA last night, right?”
Dana shifted on the sofa and gave a nervous laugh. “Where else would I be?”
“Oh, no. Don’t tell me-that extra with the cute butt? The PA with the van? Please tell me it’s not a grip?”
“No! Geez, none of the above. I’m celibate, remember?”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Just promise me one thing. Promise me that this new stand-in job of yours is not the product of your sleeping over at the shifty-eyed AD’s house.” “Maddie, please!” For the first time in her life, I thought I saw Dana blush.
Yikes. This was more serious than I’d thought. I was about to further lecture my best friend on just what Therapist Max would have to say about all this when the trailer door burst open again. I jumped, spilling coffee grinds onto the counter. Maybe I should switch to decaf.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here, ” Deveroux said, stepping into the trailer. Then he took one look at my pink heels and blushed like a schoolgirl.
“Oh, you’re wearing them again.”
I stepped around the counter, obscuring his view. “Long story. I didn’t have time to change.”
Deveroux sat down on the sofa beside Dana. “Maddie, I want you to know that I am so, so sorry.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “For?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know how it happened. Usually those Web sites are so discreet. I don’t know how this clip got out.”
“Clip?” My internal radar pricked up. “What clip?”
He looked down toward my feet again. “You know, from yesterday. I have no idea how it got out.”
“Wait…” I held up a hand, crossing the room to face him. “What do you mean, ‘got out’?”
Dana looked down at my shoes. “Ohmigod! I didn’t put it together before. It’s you!”
“What’s me?” Okay, now I was starting to worry. “The YouTube clip!” Dana yelled, bouncing up and down. “It’s all over the Internet, this girl doing a foot striptease. Ohmigod, you’re, like, famous!”
Mental forehead smack.
Dana popped up from the sofa and grabbed the lap-top, closing my solitaire game. After a couple of clicks, she opened a browser window and typed in the address of the Internet video-sharing site. I watched in horror as she clicked a clip entitled “High Heels Seduction, ” and the sound track to a Debbie Does Dallas-esque film played over a scene in a pink, fluffy bedroom. A scene featuring a pair of pink leather ankle-strap, rhinestone-buckled high heels. On my feet!
“Oh. My. God. I’m going to kill her!”
“Who?” Dana asked.
“Jasmine! She must have put that video up on the Internet.” I was supremely thankful she’d edited out my face, though the idea of Internet pervs getting their rocks off to my pink pumps still squicked me out beyond belief. “How many people have viewed this?” I asked, frantically trying to see if there was a delete button anywhere. No such luck.
Deveroux (who was turning a little flushed as he watched the screen) looked at the counter in the corner. “Only three hundred thousand.”
“Only?” I smacked my forehead with the heel of my palm. No wonder I’d been getting shoe snickers all day. If this was some sort of retribution for getting Jas-mine’s windows shot out, we were so even after this.
“Great. I have sunk to a whole new low.”
Deveroux made a low groaning sound.
“Stop watching that!” I flipped the laptop screen shut, then tucked my feet back under me.
The trailer door opened again (this time I was too pissed off to jump) and a PA stuck his head in.
“Steinman just called a wrap. We’re done for the day, ” he said, before ducking back out as his headset crackled to life.
Dana and I looked at each other, images of strangling Porn Star Barbie fading as she voiced my thoughts.
“I think that’s my cue.”
“You sure you want to do this?” I asked, that bundle of nerves returning full force.
“Of course!” She grinned. “Wish me luck, Mads.”
“Good luck, Ethel.”
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
The air was eerily still for how chaotic it had been just hours ago, cranes, props, and trailers casting odd shadows along the outside walls of stage 6G. I hugged the walkie-talkie that I’d “borrowed” earlier from a PA as he left. (Borrowed. That was my story and I was sticking to it. Okay, so I slipped it out of his bag when he wasn’t looking, but I fully intended to return it once the night was over.) One press of a button and a yell of a code two-fifteen, and security would be swarming from all directions. As well I knew.
Still, my heart was beating against my rib cage so hard I feared I might crack something as I crouched behind a golf cart, watching the door to Mia’s trailer. Dana had gone in an hour ago, pausing on the step with her back turned to anyone who might have been watching-giving them ample time to realize she was inside, alone and vulnerable.
Again my stomach clenched, and I wondered if this was really such a hot idea. But the truth was, I was tired of being chased, tired of being scared, and most of all, just plain tired of wearing other people’s clothes. What I wouldn’t give to be able to go home and throw on a pair of my own jeans. And a pair of heels that hadn’t starred in Internet porn.
The last grip had just filtered out of 6G, but already my feet were starting to go numb from all the crouching. I thanked the weather gods that the night was clear and not too cold as I hugged Marco’s leather jacket against me.
And then I heard it. Footsteps.
I froze, adrenaline surging through my veins so hard I was sure that it was audible. I held my breath, watching the door to Mia’s trailer as they grew closer. Closer. Then stopped.
Damn.
From behind the cart I could clearly see the door to Mia’s trailer, but I had to admit that without giving away my hiding place, my vision was limited to just that. Where had the footsteps come from? And, more importantly, where had they stopped?
I bit my lip, willing myself to be silent as I strained against the night air to hear more.
Nothing.
I did a one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi count, then, ever so slowly so as not to rustle my leather pants, stretched my legs and craned my neck to peek around the hood of the golf cart.
That was when I saw him.
A dark figure, all in black, wearing baggy clothes, with a low baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.
I sat back down, my pulse hammering in my ears, my fingers fumbling with the walkie-talkie. I hit the talk button, but nothing happened. Damn. I hit it again, listening for the telltale static to show that it was working, my eyes whipping wildly from it to the door of Mia’s trailer. No dark, menacing figure filling the doorway.
Yet.
“Come on, come on, ” I whispered, banging it against my hand.
Then it crackled to life.
I was so relieved I almost cried out. I hit the talk button, static filling the silence, and was about to tell them that we had a serious code two-fifteen and needed backup, like, now!
But I never got the chance.
Just as my finger hit the button, something thick and rough wrapped around my throat, pulling tight.
Choking off my air.